


Olive Branch

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Good cows!, M/M, Pining, Retrospective, Scotland, Touch-Starved, spans all of season 1-4 but stops at the cottage bc we living in denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23080327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The tea is an olive branch. He can't force Jon to get better and he won't let Jon get worse. It is a plea, a reminder, but more than anything else, an invitation.Martin and Jon through the years. Spoilers up to the season 4 finale.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 17
Kudos: 282





	Olive Branch

He learns an important lesson the first day at work, which is that Jon doesn't like being touched.

Martin isn't trying to do it on purpose. It's not like he's a cuddlebug or anything— or, well, maybe he is a _little_ , but it's small reflexive touches, you know. A hand on the shoulder, maybe the occasional elbow nudge. It's inevitable with how much space he takes up. No matter how much he tries to downsize himself he always seems to bump into everything.

But still, it's not like people _hate_ it most of the time. Tim and Sasha seem to appreciate the occasional casual touch, the latter is generous with her hugs (and they're good, sturdy ones; she's small enough compared to him to be enveloped by just one of his arms) and Tim is just an openly touchy person from what he's witnessed. They don't seem to mind his elephantine bumbling, for which Martin is eternally grateful.

Of course, that makes Jon's reactions all the more jarring.

Martin doesn't mean to bump into Jon as he's leaving his first recording session, but from the way Jon just _bristles,_ it sure seems as though he had.

Martin, as usual, had made things worse. He'd unsuccessfully tried to gather up the scattered papers swirling around them like a localized snowstorm, babbling all the while: "sorry, I didn't see you coming down here, so sorry! Won't happen again. Uh, I'm Martin by the way. Blackwood. Martin Blackwood?"

Jon had said nothing in response, only given a look of such compressed annoyance and barely-held fury that Martin just gulped and sidled out of the hallway without another word.

He gets similar reactions whenever he comes within maybe a five-foot radius of Jon. He's professional enough at a distance, almost _(almost)_ polite, but as soon as Martin broaches that sacred territory, it's curtains.

And Martin can't do anything to amend it. Pretty awful feeling.

The others assure him it's just Jon being a general sourpuss, not to take it personally, but Martin takes it to heart. There's nothing wrong with Jon for wanting some distance, after all-- no, it's all on Martin really; being too much, as usual, taking up too much space as usual.

So lesson learned. Martin gives Jon plenty of distance that day forward.

* * *

Sasha stops giving out hugs after the worms, and Martin finds himself in a situation.

Well, he's learned a lot more about Jon. He's learned how much Jon used to openly diss him on recording, which, okay, ouch, but they'd also had a few weird moments of bonding? At least now he knows why Jon is how he is. Doesn't necessarily agree in the method's effectiveness, but Martin understands not wanting to deal with something by simply refusing to acknowledge it. The whole supernatural-stuff-isn't-real schtick is kind of moot anyway now.

Jon is the same but not. Just like how Tim is the same but not, and Sasha is most of all the same but _not_. But where Tim has become less cheerful and Sasha has just become... less, Jon is...

Hm.

Well, he doesn't sleep, that's plain to see. And when he does, he tends to do it at his desk, which is just terrible for his back. He's switched from denial mode to full-on corkboards with red string, he's immensely twitchy; one time Martin lays a hand on his shoulder without announcing himself beforehand and watches Jon leap a foot.

But also, he maybe doesn't entirely despise Martin's existence.

They had something like a bonding moment after Martin gave his statement, when Jon had given him this look that's mostly indecipherable but had trace amounts of suspicion and worry and pity; then after that when boarded into the safe room with worms wriggling at the door, when Jon asked if he was a ghost and subsequently lost all air of professional aloofness and grandiosity. He won't say he can't take Jon seriously anymore, but... well, it's a humbling, ridiculous experience. Martin is grateful for it.

He respects the five-foot rule still, because ridiculous man as he is, Jon's still deserving of dignity, but he's more bold in his attempts to force some self-care into Jon's life. By god, he needs it. He brings cups of tea into Jon's office regularly and doesn't force Jon to go to lunch, but always offers.

It's irritating to have crushes on the most inopportune people, honestly. Martin finds himself annoyed half the time. But it's that familiar sort of annoyance you get with someone you know for a while, the one that warms into affection when you let it sit long enough; it blossoms in Martin's chest something awful and fills him with helpless sentimentality. Completely terrible. Seeing Jon is the highlight of his day.

He gets the inkling that Jon doesn't really trust him. Which stings somewhat, but it's fine. Or at least understandable. And anyway, Jon doesn't seem to trust most people these days, not his coworkers, not himself. It makes Martin paralyzingly sad. He wishes Jon were able to just relax, to let out all the tension that keeps him wound like a toy soldier 24/7, maybe scrub out those dark circles under his eyes.

The tea is an olive branch. He can't force Jon to get better and he won't let Jon get worse. It is a plea, a reminder, but more than anything else, an invitation.

* * *

The new staff is more unruly than Martin would've liked, but considering both of them have tried assaulting Elias on several separate occasions, he can't say their priorities aren't in order. Basira isn't one for talk, much less touch, and Melanie is... stabby.

So, Tim is gone. And Sasha was gone a long time ago. Which isn't fine, but what can he do now? He's spent so much time mourning. At least in the fog, he's actually doing something productive.

He hates Peter. He really does. He hates working for him even more. But he's not going to let himself be duped by this terrible man into letting another terrible power be unleashed, or whatever his plan with the Institute is; unfortunately, it's currently the closest thing to a home Martin has left.

The upside is he doesn't need to try to respect Jon's distance anymore. The Lonely kind of does it automatically-- hollowing him out, numbing him to his very bones, which is simultaneously a little addicting and completely awful. It's not pleasant to sit alone with his thoughts, stewing in the self-loathing and terror and sheer tiredness that's accumulated over the years, but slowly it becomes easier.

There's one weak spot. Jon. He wishes Jon would just hate him, but as always, Jon does the opposite of the rational thing every time.

He's still infatuated is the thing. Infatuated, which is what he insists it is, instead of admitting that Jon still gives him butterflies if he looks in his direction. Martin was always a bit of a bleeding heart, and seeing Jon occasionally around the office with that look in his eyes like Martin is a lost soul doesn't do him any favors.

Martin tried not to be seen when he can help it, but the fog is a double-edged sword; sometimes he gets so engrossed in it he doesn't realize someone's in the room until Jon bumps into him.

The roles are reversed now, it's Martin that jumps a foot in the air— God, it's physically painful, almost, even that little bit of contact through his shirt fabric. It's been so very long since Martin's touched anyone. He already was touch starved, this helps nothing, and Jon is looking at him again—

"What?" he says with more venom than he means (or even intends), his voice is cracked from regular disuse. "What?"

They're standing in front of the electric kettle that Martin used to make Jon tea at. Huh. Funny how he didn't notice.

Jon's mouth flaps open and shut like a fish, but nothing comes out. Finally he's been brought to a loss for words. Martin doesn't feel much at the accomplishment.

He stands there blankly for a few moments, blinking, before twisting around to head off again— and then the most awful thing imaginable happens, because Jon closes his hand around his wrist and squeezes.

The shock is immediate. A thousand nerves in Martin's body that've been slowly numbing into ice all scream in shock. Jon's touch is like fire licking through him, like the least deadly lightning. For a moment Martin suddenly understands everything about Mike Crew. Any words he tries pushing out come out as a strangled gasp; he almost flees, but Jon keeps his grip steady and looks Martin directly in the eyes.

“Martin,” he says, “come home.”

Martin panics. He wrenches his wrist out of Jon's grasp, stumbling over himself as he does, heart convulsing in his chest so hard he wonders if he's going to collapse. It's not even about the Lonely anymore, it's being overwhelmed, in all his constructed veils of distance it only took a single touch to bring him back to a hyperventilating, dizzy state.

Jon looks at him with an expression that can only be described as heartbroken. Eyes burning, Martin bolts from the room, into the corridors and back into the fog, and sits on the floor with his hair clutched in his hands trying to remember how to breathe.

* * *

Scotland.

It's as nice as Martin imagined. And he has imagined this before, embarrassingly, when flights of fancy with runaway crushes used to take up most of his time 'working'. But seriously, he never, ever thought there was even a chance— well, he'd barely even entertained the idea that Jon might return his feelings! It had always been a faraway dream, and in the past few days it's just... unfolded.

Jon looks worse and better than Martin has ever seen him. He's mottled with scars and evidence of years neglecting his body. His hair is wild and unstyled, he often forgoes shaving or putting much effort into coordinating outfits. He's beautiful, and Martin is in awe every day waking up and looking at him.

Martin insists they go on short walks every day because spending all their time in the countryside cooped up in one place, even if it is a lovely little fairytale cottage, isn't good for the body. Also, it's a rural area, so there's little chance of running into too many people (Martin is trying, he's recovering slowly, but he has things he still can't handle). Jon uses the cane he'd brought from London and they hobble along together like an old couple.

"How do you know which cows are the ones you named them?" Jon asks, fully aware that he's the one with omnipotence of the group and should be the one to keep track of these things.

Martin huffs dramatically. “It's just a feeling.” He gestures toward the milling piles of Highland fluff that are sniffing cautiously in their direction.

Jon nods sagely. “Cows are a feeling,” he agrees, totally deadpan.

When Martin smacks him lightly on the top of the head he snort-laughs, which is a contender for the most genuinely magical sound Martin's ever heard. They're pressed together at the side and have been all morning, they can barely stand to not be so for more than ten minutes.

It's amazing how easy it is to touch Jon now. Rather, it's amazing how much Jon lets himself be touched, like grab his hand so he can play with his knuckles, or trace the soft insides of his wrists and elbows, like burying his nose into Jon's hair and resting his head in the crook of his shoulder. They hug a lot. Martin from a few years ago would find this wildly horrifying, but now he just lets himself be immersed in this beautiful dream.

“Look there for example,” he points with his free hand at the cow with the white spot on her nose, “that one's Dotty.”

“And the other one's Marguerite.”

Martin does a double take. “You’re not— are you using the Beholding to scry on cows, Jonathan Sims?!”

Jon snickers devilishly, and to Martin’s delight, tilts his nose up haughtily and sniffs. “Maybe.”

The laughter that bubbles up is loud enough to rouse a flock of birds from a nearby tree. Martin laughs and laughs louder than he thought he'd ever do again, and he cries a little, because he'd resigned himself to never quite feeling joy again a long time ago. He'd thought that Martin died when his mother had, when Jon had, but now all he can do is embrace it. Martin, who has a loud laugh, and Jonathan, who holds his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me for writing sad gay people at @prentissed on tumblr and @OfficialInfini on twitter


End file.
